


rudolph the red-nosed reindeer had a very plastic nose

by phae



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Fluff, First Meetings, Gift Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 07:43:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5735425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phae/pseuds/phae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which reindeer and the most innocent of misunderstandings bring Phil and Clint together just in time for the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	rudolph the red-nosed reindeer had a very plastic nose

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bagheera95](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bagheera95/gifts).



> This fic was part of storieswritteninthesand's Holiday Cheer present. There's a small sequel on the way, so if you like this one, be on the lookout! :)

Phil’s nearly home free, they’re turning the corner onto their block, when two little hands--one covered in cotton and the other turning icy cold,  _ where did she manage to lose a mitten? _ \--clasp on to his larger one and Skye rocks back on her heels with her full weight to pull him to a stop, exclaiming, ”Daddy! Daaaaaaad! It’s Rudolph, look!”

 

Indulgently, he glances over in the direction she’s pointing, and finds a scruffy golden retriever bedecked in antlers and jingle bells and a plastic red nose to finish it off. “I think that’s a dog, jellybean.”

 

The unimpressed stare she immediately cuts his way has to be something she’s picked up from Mel; the resemblance is just too uncanny. “Dogs don’t got red noses,” Skye insists. “Or antlers.”

 

“Don’t  _ have _ ,” Phil gently corrects with a resigned smile. He’s a firm believer in the pick-your-battles style of parenting, and grammar lessons are always preferable to trying to argue around the steadfast logic of a five-year-old.

 

Skye attempts to drag him in the direction of the dog, and her tiny face is slowly morphing into the concerned pout that last came out right before Phil ended up having to pack two lunches every morning so that she could pass the second along to the kid in her class who never has a lunch and has to make do with the sad peanut butter sandwich the cafeteria offers for free. “D’ya think he’s lost, Daddy?” she asks worriedly, her eyebrows drawing together and scrunching up her forehead rather adorably.

 

“I’m sure Santa just has him scouting the area ahead of time, jellybean,” Phil says placatingly. He bends down and lifts her up onto his hip with practiced ease before she can decide it’s best to wriggle free from him to get closer to the dog. “They have to visit all the homes in the world in one night, so he’s probably on the lookout for special shortcuts.”

 

Skye loops her arms around his neck and looks him square in the eyes, her lips pooched out and her eyes wide as saucers. “He looks cold. And hungry.”

 

And since Phil is a total sucker when it comes to his baby girl, he ends up letting a costumed, one-eyed dog into their building and then their apartment. The dog’s got a collar at least, listing him as Lucky and a resident of their complex, though Phil has no idea which tennant he belongs to; he’s never noticed the dog around before, and Skye’s sure to have pointed him out if she’d caught even the faintest hint of a new pet in the building.

 

Lucky seems well-trained at least, following right behind Skye as soon as Phil sets her down and nuzzling at her hand until she starts to scratch behind his ears. Phil heads to his office to grab a few pieces of paper from the printer, only giving in to the urge to glance back and check on her once. A few flyers up in the mailroom and laundry in the basement should end this ordeal sooner rather than later, so it’s time to break out the washable markers.

 

Phil steps back into the living room to find that Skye is holding a handful of carrots--the ones he’d gotten specifically for a stew he’d planned to throw in the crockpot tomorrow,  _ add the grocery store back to the chores list, we’re low on milk anyway _ \--while Lucky is happily munching on one.

 

Phil cringes and is already reaching for his phone to look up the appropriate doggy diet, silently thanking his stars that Skye didn’t decide to share the candy she’d gotten in the Advent Calendar earlier, when there’s a sudden knock on the front door.

 

Mildly flummoxed seeing as the only people who visit their apartment have keys of their own and too few manners to bother with knocking in the first place, Phil redirects his focus to the door. All he can make out through the foggy peephole is a person-shaped blob wearing purple. Cautiously bracing his foot a few inches behind the door, ever-heedful of the fact that they live in New York, he cracks the door open and prepares to be politely distant in case it’s the landlord.

 

Except that he does in fact recognize the man standing in the hall, hand still raised to knock again, which incidentally leaves his (impressive) bicep slightly flexing. It’s C. Barton, who lives just one floor up. He moved in a couple weeks back, and Phil’s few attempts to flirt with him in the mailroom (where Barton seemed to always be coming back from a workout given the way his shirt would cling to his torso with sweat and his track pants framed a finely-muscled ass to perfection) had devolved into the usual awkward disaster that defined Phil’s love life these days.

 

At one point, Phil’d compared the guy to Superman in an attempt to compliment his physique, but he’d really only managed to out himself as a massive nerd for all things comic-related and never got around to the actual compliment. He’d shuffled out of the mailroom rather quickly once the look of bewildered confusion on Barton’s face had registered.

 

On the other side of the door, Barton abruptly moves from knocking again to a stilted wave. “Hey, sorry to bother you, man, but have you seen a do--?”

 

“Rudolph, yes,” Phil quickly jumps in to cut him off and looks back over his shoulder to make sure that Skye is still all eyes on the dog. He steps back into the apartment and pulls the door with him, ushering Barton in while explaining, “He’s here. We weren’t trying to kidnap your, uh,  _ reindeer _ , but he was wandering around outside the building and Skye was worried he might be hungry, so…”

 

“Hey, no, thanks for letting him in.” Barton’s mouth quirks up in a half-smile that makes Phil’s stomach alight with butterflies--seriously, it’s ridiculous, he’s not a teenager falling half in love with anyone who smiles at him anymore. “Lucky, uh,  _ Rudolph  _ that is, he’s a total baby when it comes to the cold. Don’t know why he bothered sneaking out in the first place.”

 

“Uh, well, you’re welcome?” Phil nearly winces, but that would only make him look even more awkward. Once upon a time, he swears he had game when it came to these things, but one buff blond with a gorgeous smile is obviously enough to send his intellect on holiday.

 

Looking over Phil’s shoulder into the living room, Barton suddenly laughs, a quick little bark that lights up his whole face. Phil turns to see what’s so funny, and Skye is trying to hold Lucky back with a hand on his red nose while she eats a carrot herself. “No, this one’s mine,” she whines. “Sharing is caring, Rudolph!”

 

“Oh, gosh. The carrots,” Phil mutters in mortification. “I’m so sorry--”

 

“It’s totally fine, I promise,” Barton assures him with another half-smile. “He can eat anything, stomach of steel.” He steps around Phil and moves to crouch down in front of Skye and Lucky. “Hi there. I’m Clint. I’m the one in charge of looking after Ol’ Rudolph here. What’s your name?”

 

Skye blinks over at Barton--Clint--for a moment before looking to Phil, who can only nod at this point. “Skye,” she answers hesitantly. “D’you work for Santa?”

 

“Yup. I’m like a stable hand, but for reindeer instead of horses. You know, feeding ‘em, brushing ‘em, cleaning up after they leave a mess in the stall.” Clint winks with exaggerated care, and it sets Skye off to giggling even as her nose scrunches up at the implication of gross things.

 

Lucky nudges his way back into Skye’s sight, angling for another carrot. Skye pulls it back and looks at Barton for permission, and sometimes Phil’s just so proud of how quickly his baby girl picks up on things.

 

“Carrots are okay for reindeers, right?” she asks carefully. “Daddy says I have to eat ‘em to keep my eyes good, and he’s missing one…”

 

Clint’s smile turns impossibly soft and fond. “Yeah, carrots are fine. Thanks for thinking of him like that, it’s real sweet of you. Want to know a secret, though?” He leans in closer when Skye’s eyes predictably widen. “Rudolph here, his favorite is actually pizza.”

 

“Pizza?” Skye demands incredulously.

 

“Yup.” Clint nods decisively. “The more pepperonis, the better.”

 

Skye looks like her whole world is reordering around the pivotal fact that reindeer prefer pizza. “So I gotta leave cookies  _ and  _ pizza out on Christmas?”

 

“Well, I mean, you don’t  _ have to _ ,” Clint admits with a shrug. “But I think it’s always best to hedge your bets, so if your dad doesn’t mind, I’d say go for it.”

 

And right on cue, big brown eyes turn on him, practically glittering with excited ideas. “Can we, Daddy? Or a  _ cookie pizza _ ?”

 

Phil gapes for a moment and has to actively review the last few minutes to properly process what he’s being asked. And then, as is the norm for him since Skye came along, he elects to just shrug and go along with it. “I don’t know how well the chocolate chips and pepperonis would mix, flavor-wise. So how about we make a plate of cookies for Santa and a pizza for the reindeer?”

 

“We can make bagel bites!” Skye exclaims, jumping up and down and dropping carrots all around that Lucky immediately starts sniffing around for. “Then the reindeers can all get one!”

 

“Just the one?” Clint prompts, grinning now.

 

“If they eat too much at one house, they get a tummy ache,” Skye explains, her expression as serious as one who’s experienced a good deal of tummy aches can make it.

 

“That is very true,” Clint agrees.

 

Gently nudging a few carrots out of Lucky’s range, Phil suggests, “Maybe we should put the carrots away before Rudolph gets a tummy ache now, huh, jellybean?” Steel stomach he may have, but Lucky’s already scarfed down at least four of them.

 

Skye nods vigorously before bundling up the gnawed off bits of carrots and toddling back to the kitchen. Clint reaches out to snag Lucky by his collar when he makes to follow her, pulling him in close and scratching at his scruff.

 

“So,” Clint drawls out, rolling his head over his shoulder to catch Phil’s eye. “I still haven’t caught your name.”

 

“Oh! Right, it’s Phil.” He makes an abortive move to stick out his hand and shake, then lets it fall back to his side uselessly. “I’m Phil Coulson,” he finishes lamely.

 

“Good to officially meet ya, Phil Coulson. And, you know, I can make you a plate of mini pizzas for Christmas Eve, if you want,” Clint offers. “Seeing as I kinda planted a weird idea in your kid’s head as far as holiday traditions go.”

 

“No, you don’t have to!” Phil insists earnestly. “I was actually getting worried about how I was going to extricate “Rudolph” from the apartment once we let him inside, so this is great. Really. Thank you for playing along.”

 

“‘Course!” Clint grins happily, and with the full weight of that smile directed at Phil, his heart actually stutters for a second. “Gotta keep the magic alive for as long as you can, right?”

 

“Yeah.” Phil nods.

 

They stare at each other, letting the moment drag out before the clatter of some form of cutlery hitting the tile in the kitchen snaps them back to the present--and what is Skye doing in there that requires a utensil?

 

There’s an odd shuffle as Clint stands again and subtly edges Lucky towards the door and Phil tries to maneuver out of the way without having to move much.

 

“Aw, are you leaving?” Skye asks when she ducks back into the living room, just the faintest whine to her voice.

 

Even Clint’s sympathetic smile does crazy things to Phil’s heart. “Sorry, kiddo, but Rudolph’s due for some flight practice. If it’s okay with your dad, though, I can bring him around next time he’s got a break.”

 

“Daddy?”

 

And really, in the face of that hopeful look and with the chance to see more of Clint on the horizon, there’s not even really a decision to make. “Sure, Rudolph and Clint are always welcome to visit.”

 

Clint’s gaze darts up to look on Phil’s. “Yeah?”

 

Phil gulps audibly, struck by the intensity of the look, and nods a touch too enthusiastically. “Yeah. Definitely.”

 

“Awesome.” Clint’s lips quirk up for a moment something even brighter than a smile before he looks down at Lucky and prods him with his knee. “Hey, Rudolph, wanna give Skye a goodbye kiss?”

 

Lucky’s tongue lolls out and he licks Skye’s cheek wetly, which prompts another giggle fit. “Bye Rudolph! Bye Clint!” she chirps.

 

“Catch ya later, Skye!” Clint waves as he backs out of the apartment, Lucky budging up against him in the doorway so they get stuck for a moment. Before the door closes behind him, he shoots a final grin Phil’s way. “Until we meet in the mailroom again, Phil.”

 

Phil’s still not really sure how his day took such a drastic turn, but he’s not about to complain now.


End file.
